When Kaito opened his eyes, he wasn't in the corrupted city. He was lying in a school infirmary bed, bathed in soft morning light. A gentle breeze flowed through the open window, carrying the faint scent of sakura blossoms. The system interface in the corner of the room read:
[Health: Stable]
[Psych Evaluation: Cleared]
[Behavioral Score: Recalibrated]
It all looked… normal. Peaceful. Clean.
Too clean.
He sat up slowly, body tense. His hands weren't glowing anymore. No trace of code surged through his veins. His clothes had been changed—neatly pressed school uniform, spotless shoes beside the bed. On the nightstand was a breakfast tray with warm miso soup, rice, and tea. Comforting. Familiar. Like nothing had ever happened.
That's what scared him most.
Misaki was sitting in the chair beside him, head down, arms crossed. Sleeping—or pretending to.
He reached out. "Misaki?"
She stirred slowly. Opened her eyes. Smiled.
"Good morning," she said gently, as if everything were fine. "You passed out during midterms. Nurse said you overworked yourself. Don't worry, I took notes for you."
Kaito blinked. "What?"
"You've been asleep for a few days, they said. But nothing serious. Everyone's just glad you're okay."
He stared at her. "Misaki. Do you remember the corridor? The reboot? The Core?"
She tilted her head. "Kaito… is this a joke?"
His chest tightened. "No. You were there. The defense units. The corrupted reality. You—"
She reached forward, took his hand.
"Kaito. There's no such thing. You've been stressed lately. Maybe… maybe you had a bad dream."
A soft chime interrupted her. The infirmary display panel flickered with a new message:
[Student Arasaka, Kaito: Cleared for return to class. Assigned Companion: Misaki Ito]
[Priority Observation Mode: Hidden]
Kaito's eyes locked on that last line.
Hidden.
They hadn't stopped watching.
They were just doing it quietly now.
He stood slowly, pulling his hand away. "I want to go home."
Misaki smiled again—too perfectly. "You are home."
The words hit like a whisper from the Core itself.
He left the infirmary in silence. Students walked past him in the halls, all smiles and laughter. No one stared. No one avoided him. His name tag above his head was back. Neutral. Clean.
But something was wrong.
Every interaction felt choreographed. Too smooth. Too safe. He passed a vending machine and noticed the choices never glitched. He waved to a teacher who responded in a perfectly polite tone, then stood still for two seconds too long, blinking at nothing.
The world wasn't real.
Or at least, not entirely.
Later that day, in the quiet of the library, a slip of paper fell from a book he pulled from the shelf. It wasn't tagged, wasn't traceable. Just paper. Real paper.
It read:
You didn't stop the system. You triggered Phase Two.
They've rewritten Misaki.
Get out. While you still know who you are.
No signature.
Kaito's pulse spiked.
He turned—and saw Misaki standing across the library, watching him with that same perfect smile.
And behind her, just for a flicker of a moment—no one else saw it—her shadow split into two.
One human.
One made of code.